


Non ille oblitus amorum

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: AU, M/M, Random Musings, around 1829
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7484283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras thinks about Grantaire</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non ille oblitus amorum

Grantaire’s drunken kiss on his virginal lips during one meeting that had devolved to jest and irreverence, had awakened impulses in him that he did not even know he possessed. His heart was throbbing faster than usual; his focus shifted and then disappeared. He was in the midst of a speech to the workers but his mind seemed to be elsewhere. What was this sensation that had arisen in him? Was it lustful desire? A mere perversion? Or was it something more, something deeper?

He was never one to lose faith in people, Grantaire would come to embrace the ideas of the Republic, he was certain, which is why he would never prohibit him from attending. The many meetings he had seen Grantaire attend were surely proof of his slowly changing attitude. Little by little, the tide would turn and the sceptic would become a convert. He found himself studying Grantaire as the evening progressed; the shifts in his countenance as he said something in jest, the way there seemed to be something sorrowful in Grantaire's eyes during his incoherent ramblings. He always listened when Grantaire spoke, even if he showed his disdain at what was being said. He admitted to himself that his words were never harsh from a feeling of hate, only with an overwhelming desire for Grantaire to better himself.

Somewhere, deep down, their souls had touched on some level. His soul seemed to be craving nourishment that could only be found in Grantaire's presence. Was this also how Grantaire felt? He could not remove Grantaire or this strange feeling from his heart. He found himself asking, if there could be a deeper connection between them. A secret known to poets like Virgil who talked of Nisus and Euraylus and sacred bonds of love.

It certainly was not a perversion. He had never felt the animal impulses that touched other men, though he had heard them spoken of. Yet, were these not the same impulses arising in him? This carnal lust was something hitherto unknown to him. Something he did not understand and wanted to escape from, as feelings of shame filled him at such thoughts.  

The way forward seemed unclear to him. He could not indulge in these fancies, his love for the Republic and sense of duty demanded that of him. How could he lead, when his mind seemed to want to follow the tender speakings that love whispered in his ears? But Patria was a demanding mistress. Should she ask for his life he was ready to lay it down for her. Must he also give up these feelings? Must he sacrifice something that gives him unbridled joy, something that makes him look forward to living. He wants to raise his head and hear the birds sing, he wants to look at the flowers, he has never noticed before. He wants to absorb himself in thoughts of another and give in to the desires of his body that are slowly revealing themselves to him. Must he give up such exquisite delight? He judges himself and passes the sentence. He has to, he must, he will. His heart cannot love in halves.     

He has to bury his love for Grantaire deep down, where no one will be able to see. Let him locate an infernal abyss and fling away with whatever might he can muster, the only thing of beauty he has ever known. Let others and Grantaire think of him and his coldness what they will. They cannot see his heart. They cannot see the wounds he is inflicting on himself and how much he is abasing himself in his own eyes. This is a sacrifice demanded by the Republic. Let him give it cheerfully.      

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from a line in Virgil's Aeneid which can be roughly translated to 'Not mindless was he of love'


End file.
